A Week of Breath, Release and Transformation
What Breathwork Can Unlock In the Body
Last weekend I left our hills behind and drove all the way to the Snowy Mountains for the next stage of my breathwork training - a quiet, personal retreat into nature that I didn’t yet realise would shift something deep inside me. It became one of those journeys where the simple act of stepping away from daily life becomes its own nervous system reset. A week of firsts - crossing state lines with no accommodation booked, wandering with no schedule, choosing solitude, learning to breathe with the discomfort that comes from being truly alone. Even meals felt unfamiliar without the noise of company. But somewhere between the small-town bakeries, roadside naps, and the eerie beauty around Lake Hume with its forest of submerged trees, I felt myself settling into a rhythm that wasn’t rushed or borrowed - just mine.
I had set out for phase two of my breathwork instructor training, ready to meet my edges again. I wanted to take myself into a space where nature and breathwork could work together to bring up what needed releasing. A self-led, nature-based retreat that wasn’t about comfort, but about clarity.
When I arrived at the familiar shed where the retreat was held, there were only two faces I knew - Han, from my level one, warm and friendly as ever, and Johannes, our steady leader.
Others I'd met in our Zoom sessions who suddenly became real humans with real arms and real hugs, and honestly, the hugs alone were half the reason I came back. There’s something rare about being in a room where nobody is performing or hiding. A breathwork retreat community has its own kind of magic: people committed to healing, open-hearted learning, and dropping the armour that everyday life demands.
It’s a setting that accelerates healing simply because the ego finally steps aside. No comparisons. No judgement. Just people willing to share, breathe, cry, shake, laugh, and grow. It’s the kind of space where you can allow your nervous system to soften and find ground again.
The week itself was a mosaic of incredible breakthroughs. We breathed through old stories, we swam in cold lakes, we shared nourishing meals, we facilitated sessions that stretched us, we eye-gazed, we cried, we laughed until our we almost wet our pants, we danced like unhinged jungle creatures, most of all we pushed our bodies beyond what our minds believed possible.
This is the kind of transformation that happens when breathwork and nature work together - trauma release that doesn’t feel forced, insights that land without being chased, nervous system patterns that finally loosen their grip. Somewhere between the ice baths, the trauma saunas, the somatic movement and the moments of terrifying vulnerability, I found the version of myself I’d been waiting to meet.
For the first time, I stopped believing the old story that “I can’t do hard things.” I became the person whose stories had the room roaring. The person no longer afraid that laughter meant judgement. The person who didn’t shrink at the thought of being seen. I felt like a brighter, bolder, truer version of myself - the version that breathwork often reveals when we stop muffling our own light.
This is the kind of experience I want to bring to others in time. The spaciousness. The healing. The reconnecting with nature and breath in a way that stabilises the nervous system and dissolves old fear patterns. My seasonal retreats will begin in 2026, woven with the same threads: breathwork, nature immersion, connection, emotional repair, and the quiet recalibration that only time away from life can bring. Over summer, I’ll be running Breath and Ice workshops, and I’m already dreaming about introducing this nervous-system education to teenagers in the hills. Imagine if they learned now what I am only now mastering in my 40s - how to regulate, how to release, how to meet challenges without collapsing under them.
The journey home became its own retreat. Snow fell softly in Thredbo, so I stayed the night. The next day I let myself wander through mountain country, letting nature guide the pace. Kangaroos with tiny heads poking from their pouches. A herd of wild brumbies with three foals stretched out asleep in the grass. A stallion breathing clouds of dragon-smoke into the cold air. Emus striding through the fields as if the land had invited them to perform. It felt like nature was holding space for me one last time - a private, living documentary playing just for my healing.
Coming home, I knew this was only the beginning. Breathwork, nature-based healing, and nervous system work have opened a door in me, and I’m walking through it with lungs full, spirit steady, and a light that finally shines bright.
Curious about breathwork or retreats?
